Daring, Nerve and Chivalry The Outtakes
by Scandalacious Intentions
Summary: Compatible with 'Where Dwell the Brave at Heart'. The "midquel" to 'Daring, Nerve and Chivalry'. As avid a photographer as Lupin is, some events cannot be captured on film. He's a professional spy and his friends aren't children anymore.
1. In which Sirius wins the battle

**Disclaimer: If owned Harry Potter, the world would be a much scarier place.**

**A/N: So these are compatible with 'Where Dwell the Brave at Heart', 'Where Dwell the Brave at Heart - the Outtakes', and 'Daring, Nerve and Chivalry'. You don't need to have read all of them. I might suggest (if you've stumbled on this) you read a few chapters (literally a few because it's a long story) of 'Where Dwell the Brave at Heart - The Outtakes' because it's structured in the same way and the O.C.s I introduce there are developed here. It's also the better of the three in my personal opinion.**

**These are a series of oneshots set in a story-arc I like to call 'Marauder-Verse'. They're not in chronological order, but there's always a date and a time at the start of each one so it's easier to keep track. If I reference a chapter of one of the other three stories, I will properly reference it with a quote. You shouldn't, therefore, need to read or re-read that chapter in order to understand the latest one.**

**I hope this works.**

**We'll begin at the end because 'Let's start at the very beginning' is too mainstream. This one's a bit mad, but that's the intention.**

"_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, S__hall be lifted - nevermore." - _"The Raven" - Edgar Allan Poe.

_November 18__th__ 1981. Azkaban. Murderer's Row. 06:30._

As soon as he was sentenced to a lifetime on Murderer's Row, he knew it would mean the bowels of a maximum-security prison, the occupants of which screamed, shrieked, and cried even in their sleep. The walls were of black stone. Along them, several torches had been lit. It was a winter morning and still dark, but they would burn all day. Natural light was not permitted to grace the halls of Murderer's Row. With no access to daylight and no clocks, finding a prisoner who believed half past ten in the morning was a quarter-past-midnight was not uncommon.

In a cruel twist of fate, Sirius Black found himself in a cell opposite Bellatrix. She spat at him through the bars. She cackled and clapped when a gobbet landed inside his cell. Sirius quickly learned to stay silent and sit in the gloom, leaning against the far wall and listening to the sounds of waves crashing against the rocks.

He existed in a world of eternal darkness. He heard the screams of others, but he did not speak a word. He sat in stoic silence for every waking moment. Some days, he would not sit up and chose to spend the day lying on the stone slab which had become his bed. He was starting to forget the sound of his own voice.

When he closed his eyes, he slipped in and out of consciousness - falling asleep when he had not meant to and wondering what time it was when he woke. He had time to think. Sometimes, he lay staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds until they made a minute, the minutes until they made an hour, just to remind himself that five hours in a world without James was not five years.

He counted every waking hour. It became as much a reflex as taking a breath. It allowed his mind to wander. He wondered if Peter could be found. He wondered if Lupin would even think to look for him.

No. He'd been at a Halloween party in Hope Cove only weeks ago. They'd all laughed. What had they laughed at?

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. Seventy four minutes. Two, three, four, five.

The wolf in sheep's clothing. He had sat bolt upright, lifting his head from the bowl of apples in icy water. He was there to make up with Remus who had made a speech. Peter. Peter hadn't come that night, but he'd been too quick to speak at another party only days before. Peter had said…

What had Peter said?

Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three.

"We're all hiding something somewhere." That was it. The miserable little bastard had given him a hint two days before he'd sold his friends to Voldemort. He had forty-eight hours to solve the riddle and had only done so when Lupin made a quip.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

Sirius sat up with a start. "I think," he said to himself, his voice gravelly and a little deeper than he remembered it, "I'm twenty-two today." He frowned slightly. "Of course, I can't be sure because…" He clamped his hands over his mouth. "Don't talk to yourself," he hissed through his fingers.

He cursed under his breath. He'd lost count.

Taking a deep breath, he began a second count.

Something about a wolf in sheep's clothing. Sirius winced. He desperately wanted to remember it. It was their last conversation, bantering back and forth just as they had done while they were at school, before they'd become pawns in a war. He glanced past the bars of his cell. The black cloaks of the Dementors billowed down the twisting corridors behind them. They were flocking to him. If he couldn't remember it, they couldn't steal the memory from him and devour it as he screamed.

He concentrated on counting. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

His mother! Not Remus - his mother! The wolf in sheep's clothing was not in sheep's clothing, but in Grandma's.

"I always knew he was going to be a sarcastic little sod. I told him the story of Little Red Riding Hood when he was four and instead of lapping it up, he asked me if I was quite well and gave me a lecture on stomach acid. 'You can't be swallowed whole and survive because you'll be digested. Don't be so silly, Mummy.'"

And they'd laughed.

"Maybe Grandma had hidden talents," said Lupin.

_We're all hiding something somewhere_…

Sirius collapsed onto the slab and lay shaking. He shifted his legs until he lay in the foetal position.

He would rot here. He would die in this cell because Remus Lupin loved logic and there was not a hope of applying logic to the situation and concluding with the truth.

So Sirius counted the hours until he drifted into a fitful sleep. He didn't dwell on the past. He didn't attempt to think of what might have been. He didn't dare hope. He bore his punishment for his arrogance and paid for his guilt. He thought of only one thing. He remembered his innocence and assured himself of it every day. It wasn't a pleasant thought - with it surfaced the image of his best friend's crumpled body lying at the foot of the stairs - but it reminded him who he was.

"I am Sirius Black," he whispered to himself in the darkness. "And I killed my best friend."

The Dementors could not take it from him. A world existed outside of his cell. It was a lonely and empty world devoid of James' laughter, but it existed outside of his own mind.

The battle for his sanity was won.


	2. In which Lupin is commissioned

**Disclaimer: See first chapter**

"_Evil is always devising more corrosive misery through man's restless need to exact revenge out of his hate_." - Ralph Steadman.

"I gave him injuries he will never fully cure, scars that will never fully heal, and nightmares that will never fully leave him." - Daring, Nerve and Chivalry. Chapter 44.

_August 20t__h__ 1978. Milton Sands. South Devon. 23:18._

"Follow."

Travers stumbled across the jagged rocks, slippery with still damp seaweed, though the tide was out.

"Follow."

His guide leapt over the rocks with practiced grace and Travers began to wonder where in Germany this man might have become familiar with rock pools. He had been approached less than an hour ago by this cloaked stranger. He'd been told there was something of interest in the caves beside the sea - somewhere the smugglers used to leave things of little interest to them. Unsure whether such a misunderstood treasure might be of use to the Dark Lord, whose longing for Gryffindor's sword had produced no results, he followed willingly. Now that he had abandoned the protection of the streetlights, Travers' mind began to wander. The German man who had tugged on his sleeve in the gloom of an alley, seemed to know a lot about the area. Still, his accent was all right and Travers supposed that any unease he felt was entirely related to his ominous surroundings.

They stood at the entrance to a cave. His guide pointed inside, his face entirely covered by his cloak. Travers stepped into the unending darkness and cried out as the stranger followed close behind him and blocked the entrance.

"What are you doing, man?"

The stranger dropped his accent. His voice, deep and raspy, echoed around the walls.

"You _are_ Travers, are you not?"

Travers nodded and, realising that he could not be seen, replied in the affirmative.

"Excellent. We don't need light." The stranger said no more and pushed him firmly, but not enough to hurt him, forward. "Follow a nice straight line now."

"I can't see," Travers protested, a tremor in his voice.

"You don't need to see. You need to walk."

Travers reached out with both long arms. His hands shook and he was relieved that the stranger could not see him. He attempted to grope the walls and maintain a firm footing, but his fingers clutched only at damp and heavy air.

"We don't appear to be walking, Mr. Travers."

Gingerly, he put one foot in front of the other and hit solid ground. With less caution, he began to move forwards. The stranger's footsteps echoed behind him.

"What is it anyway?"

"You'll see."

Travers' eyes had not yet accustomed the gloom and he thought this might be debatable, but he was unnerved and decided to keep the thought to himself.

"All right. Stop."

Travers came to an immediate halt and glanced at his surroundings. There was still nothing but all consuming blackness around him.

"Lumos."

The cave was empty but for a rickety wooden chair in the centre of it.

"Sit."

The stranger's hood had not been pulled from his face. Travers frowned deeply.

"I do believe I asked you to sit."

The hair on the back of Travers' neck stood to attention. A small shiver crept up his spine. "There's nothing here," he said, more to himself than to the stranger.

"There is a chair," the stranger replied. "That's all you need."

Travers reluctantly took a seat.

"Incarcerous." It was almost a whisper and Travers had barely had time to decipher what he had heard before his hands and ankles were bound tightly to the creaking wood.

The cloaked figure had not revealed himself and stood in shadow, taking in the sight before him as though admiring his work.

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything from you. There is nothing you can give me." His voice cracked. "You took him from me and nothing can bring him back." He took a deep breath and composed himself. "I might leave you here. I might leave you to die slowly as you left him, but that wouldn't give me half the satisfaction. I had this curse performed on me and I think it's very fitting." He strode over to the chair where Travers remained silent, his face frozen as though petrified by fright.

"Sectumsempra."

It spurted from him. Travers' silver beard was tinged and clogged with blood. His eyes had glazed over where he had passed out. The cloaked stranger removed the bonds and Apparated out onto the rocks where he washed his blood stained hands and sobbed violently, retching into the pools of water that gathered there.

* * *

He arrived in Fulham with the intention of visiting James, but a glance at his watch told him that it was now quarter-past-midnight and while James was an extremely accepting individual, Lupin didn't think he would relish being dragged out of bed at this hour.

If he hadn't the nerve to call on one of his dearest friends, Lupin wasn't sure from where he managed to gather enough courage to Apparate to Godric's Hollow and stand outside Dumbledore's door, but before he had time to re-think his strategy, he found himself slamming the knocker against the wood.

It was answered immediately and Lupin, still shaking, was taken aback. His former headmaster was wearing a blue paisley dressing gown and matching nightcap.

"Why, hello, Mr. Lupin. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He did not comment on Lupin's bizarre attire, nor the hours he kept. He ignored his swollen tear ducts, his bloodstained cloak, and shaking hands. "Do come in. It's quite cold." It might as well have been half-past-four in the afternoon.

Lupin was ushered into a chair beside the fireplace and handed a cup of sweet tea. Dumbledore took the seat opposite him and crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair. He did not remove his nightcap and Lupin was slightly unsettled by this.

"I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I know that it's late and-"

Dumbledore silenced him with a gesture. "I very rarely sleep."

"Oh," said Lupin. He managed a weak smile. "Excellent. Well, not _excellent_, but-"

Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. "What was it that you wished to see me about? Or is this a social visit?"

Lupin managed a weak smile. "I…actually…" He trailed off and took a deep breath, choking back his tears. "I'm frightened I'll be sent to prison," he said, quite matter-of-factly.

"Well," replied Dumbledore, " people aren't just _sent_ to prison, you know. Why would you be?"

Lupin averted his eyes. "I did something terrible," he murmured in response. Without much prompting, he informed Dumbledore of the reason for his fears. "He killed my father. If he had snatched him from me with a killing curse, I might have let him live his life never knowing I even existed, but he sent him back to me and my mother as an empty shell. He wasn't my dad. He was my dad's shadow and for that, I hate him. I hate him so much I'd do it again. I _am_ a monster."

Dumbledore thought that he had made a grievous error in underestimating Remus Lupin's temper. "When I was a boy, we had something called a _crime passionnel_. He doesn't know who you are?"

Lupin shook his head.

"Then I imagine you're quite safe." He sat forward in his seat. "So long as you don't make a habit of it. Revenge brings out a monster in the best of us, Mr. Lupin. You're in good company. I think I might have done the same, but age mellows you. Experience has mellowed you, hasn't it? You're _not_ a monster, Remus. You have clearly not enjoyed yourself." He cleared his throat. "How did you get him to agree to accompany you?"

"I put a hood over my face and affected a German accent."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "You didn't Confund him, or…?"

Lupin understood the inference. "Nor did I put the Imperius curse on him. I thought that if I could get him to come with me without magic, then fate would step in. So I told him I had something the smugglers had left behind, something of 'much worth', and he followed me."

Dumbledore nodded. "He suspected nothing?"

Lupin shrugged. "Not that I know of."

Dumbledore hummed, evidently pleased. "I know you're obviously under a great deal of strain, but I wonder if I might ask you a few questions?"

Lupin gestured for him to go ahead.

"What colour were his eyes?"

"Green."

"What accent did he speak in?"

"South London. He sounded like James."

"Where was the parting in his hair?"

"Just off centre - to the right. He must think it hides his widow's peak, but it doesn't."

Dumbledore smiled. "There is an organisation, Mr. Lupin, that attempts to fight against Voldemort. You may have heard me refer to it in the past. It is called the Order of the Phoenix. We're in need of a spy."

Lupin's jaw dropped. "_Me_? A _spy_? What would you want with me? I'm not exactly James Bond material."

Dumbledore frowned. "You're not _what_?"

"Oh. Nevermind."

"Under extreme duress or strain, you remember minor details. You are clearly quite a skilled actor. How could you not be perfect?"

Lupin offered him a half-smile. "Are you…_commissioning _me?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, yes, of course. Thursday evening. Seven o'clock. See you then."

Lupin got to his feet, taking this as his cue to leave. "Can I tell my friends?"

"Naturally it is an invitation extended to anyone you think can be trusted. Bring them. I was going to write-"

Lupin nodded. "You did. That's how I got your address."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "And to think you told me you wouldn't make a spy."


	3. In which James brings home a Pumpkin

**Disclaimer: See first chapter**

**A/N: Light and fluffy after the last two. Inspired by a conversation that went on on Saturday.**

_September 19__th__ 1979. London. 14:00._

"Well, this is it."

James knew full well to whom Remus Lupin addressed this and ambled into the kitchen, leaving his girlfriend, who was far more interested in Lupin's feature wall than he could ever pretend to be, in the living room.

He found Sirius with his head buried in a cabinet.

"Hang on."

James perched himself on the counter, legs swinging dangerously close to his best friend's head.

"Where've you hidden the teabags?" Sirius glanced up, accusation in his eyes, and jumped. "Oh, it's you. Oh, James, thank God. He's driving me up the wall."

James laughed. "You only moved yesterday."

Sirius glared at him. "Have you any idea how long twenty-four hours really is?" He sighed. "I thought _I_ was neat. Remus is bloody obsessive compulsive or something. As soon as I put something down, he's got to fucking dust it. He follows me around cleaning. I'm going to swing for him if this keeps on."

James raised his eyebrows pointedly. "He's doing you a favour."

"What? By keeping dust out of my airwaves? Oh, God be praised."

James summoned the teabags which drifted toward him from the other side of the room in an apple-green pot labeled 'Tea'. He rolled his eyes. "You don't look do you, Pad. You browse."

He didn't quite understand how it was possible to hide anything in a kitchen of such a size. Underneath the square window on the opposite side of the room was a small round table and four chairs, which James thought was slightly ambitious. He felt a little cramped in there just trying to keep out of Sirius' way. He couldn't imagine doing so while attempting not to stand on other people's toes.

The rain beat harder against the window and James, who had assured Lupin that he would personally sign every document he might need for a mortgage and hand over any amount of money so that he didn't have to live here, was convinced the pane would not hold. Pride was one thing, he thought, but living in a tiny flat that seemed to have been built for a Cornish pixie just because your inheritance money stretched far enough, was quite mad.

Small pink pads drummed quickly against the glass and James jumped.

"What's that?"

Sirius frowned at it. "I don't know."

"Maybe open the window and find out?"

Sirius only looked at him. "Let me ask you, James, if this was your house, would _you_?"

Lupin's voice drifted in from the living room. "Oh, I feed her sometimes. I think she's a stray. Let her in. It's raining."

James reached over and flipped the catch on the window. With a yowl, the cat jumped through it and landed on the table. She sat in the centre of it, staring at James and Sirius in an accusatory fashion, her tail swishing behind her.

"Remus?"

Lupin's head appeared round the doorframe. "Yes?"

Sirius pointed at the cat.

"What about her?"

"What's she doing here?"

Lupin slumped. "Come on, Padfoot. Look at her."

"I _am_ looking at her, but the salient point is that I shouldn't be. What's she doing here?"

"Oh you have a cat?" Lily ducked under Lupin's arm and made toward the table. She held out her hand and shrieked as eight claws sank into her skin.

"Yeah," said Lupin, biting one corner of his lower lip. "She does that sometimes."

Lily yanked her hand back and hissed.

"I'm sorry, Lily. That's what she does. She's a hunter. She's a cat."

"Remus, that's not a cat," said Sirius, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. "That's a fucking panther."

* * *

James Potter liked to believe his life was a relatively easy one. It required little maintenance. He had never had to make any life-changing decisions. He had never had to go out and earn his keep. His best friend had moved out, but Sirius had had to make room for Lily - the girl James could never, even in the wildest of his wildest dreams, have imagined he would be sharing a sofa with at seven o'clock on a Friday night in their home.

She flopped down onto it, pushing her mane of red hair back, tangling it in her long fingers. Her forehead creased marginally. If her boyfriend had not been watching for the signs, he would never have guessed what was about to come. She laid her head on his shoulder.

James Potter liked to believe his life was a relatively easy one - except when he heard the words:

"Jim, I've been thinking."

Four relatively harmless words which, perhaps had he not spent so much time in the company of Sirius, who usually continued with, "Our alibi is…", wouldn't have frightened him quite as much.

He proceeded with caution, dragging the vowel sound out for a little longer than necessary. "Right."

"We should get a pet."

James reached for her right hand. Eight long scars ran from her wrist to her knuckles. He held it up to her. "You want a pet, do you?"

"Yes! Well, no. At least, not one like that. I thought we could get a dog."

James shook his head violently. "No. Ain't no way, no how. I don't like them."

Lily sat up and turned to face him. "You don't like dogs?"

James continued to shake his head. "I never have really. I didn't have a real problem with them until I met Remus and his family. They had this dog which could have pulled Scott to the Arctic. His father was a sadistic git who thought this fear was the funniest thing he'd ever heard of. Remus lived in Devon, right, so we'd go every summer. In third year, his old man leant out of the window and said, 'It's that Potter boy back again. Release the hounds.' The dog actually got to its feet. I didn't sleep for days!" He sighed. "So no. No, we're not getting a dog."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "I have one word for you. Padfoot."

James laughed. "All right, so he's a great hulking black monster, but he _always_ is. That's different. That's…well, that's Padfoot. My face is not likely to be bitten off."

Lily clicked her tongue. "You think one of your closest friends would keep and love an animal that would do that to you?"

"Two words for you in return, young miss. Your hand." He laughed. "Lil, you don't know what it's like. I had to share a dormitory with him for seven years. I _know_ things about bloodthirsty creatures. Sharing a dorm with Moony meant sharing with them as well. Which means that we can rule out _anything _with teeth." He grinned. "Or Padfoot could rent himself out every time you fancied a walk. How's that sound?"

Lily merely looked at him.

"What?"

"Jim, there's weird and there's _that_. You didn't only cross the line, you hired your best friend to slobber all over it. No."

James smiled. "What if I said I wanted a cat?"

Lily laughed without mirth. "After the events of today, you and it would be looking for somewhere to live."

* * *

_September 29__th__ 1979. Fulham. 17:00._

"Don't throw me out!" he shouted from the bottom of the garden.

Lily ran to the window and peered out of it, hoping to catch a glimpse of something more than his jet black hair that was standing in all directions despite thirty minutes in front of the mirror that morning.

He held up a ball of orange fur.

"I can't believe you've done this! I told you-"

James ran up the path, the ball of fur happy to be carried, or rather jolted, along. His smashed face contained piggy black eyes and a tiny startlingly pink nose.

"Now hear me out. He's not a hunter and he doesn't look like he can be arsed to cause genuine injury. Look at him. He's too fat to hunt."

He handed her the ginger lump of fur. He weighed more than a large baby. Lily groaned.

"His name is Pumpkin. We have a pet."

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "James, thank you, I appreciate the gesture, but I am _not_ shouting 'Pumpkin' when I want him in out of the cold."

James shrugged. "That's the great thing about cats. As long as you have somewhere warm to sleep and a nice bit of meat, you can call them anything you please. I mean, what self-respecting cat comes to 'Rowntree' anyway? She just knows which way her bread is buttered. Lil, he _looks_ like a Pumpkin." He grinned, smiling the same devilish smile that had infuriated her since first she saw it. "Come on. Can we keep him?"

The cat hopped out of her arms and settled on the arm of the sofa, picking the fabric and forcing a wince from Lily.

"I think I'd still have preferred a dog. It might have been happier to see me."

James glared at her. "Pumpkin, Mummy doesn't mean that."

"Mummy?"

"Lily, do you know nothing about having a pet with your boyfriend? You've _got_ to be Mummy and Daddy. It's the law. Now, if you'd rather be a bitch than-"

"Oh, stop it."


	4. In which Peter is called out

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: Oh, come on. We all know this guy is the reason I started to write this story.**

_February 26__th__ 1981. Glenridding. 10:56._

There was something deeply disconcerting about Death Eater gatherings in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mulciber. Peter couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that unnerved him. It may have been the pale blue walls, the kitsch tablecloth, the sun-umbrella in the garden. It may have been the Mulcibers themselves. Anna dressed as though she stepped straight out of Stepford and Mulciber - _Mulciber!_ - the boy who had once cursed him to high heaven and broken - no _smashed_ - his nose at the end of their seventh year, was absolutely smitten with her.

Peter took his seat toward the middle of the table and eyed Nagini, who had draped herself around her master's chair and shoulders, with distaste. He folded his hands in his lap and tried to avoid Anna's gaze across the table.

"A very useful ally you have turned out to be, Mr. Pettigrew. The pieces are slotting nicely into place."

Peter's head shot up. The Dark Lord was smirking in his direction. It was not a pleasant smile and Peter wasn't sure how to respond. He opted for a small upward turn of his tight lips.

"Thank you for divulging this information. We must dispose of him. Travers, would you like to make up a third of the welcoming party?"

Travers' scars were old and thin, but he snarled a response.

Across the table, Anna's eyes met Peter's, wide with fear. He understood then. He had endangered Remus. His heart beat faster against his chest until he was sure it would burst out. His throat was dry and he found himself unable to speak. All the while, her eyes bore into his. He did not speak up. She cast him a withering glance.

"No!"

The room fell silent. Even Mulciber glared at her.

"The moment he lays eyes on Travers, your cover is blown. If he's not alone, you can't be sure of success. You'll need to lull him into a false sense of security and that's hard enough. You can't send Peter because if it goes wrong, his position will be compromised and you'll lose your spy. There is no-one around this table who he will be willing trust." She turned to the head of the table and met his eyes. "No-one but me."

Voldemort turned his gaze upon her. His eyes glinted with an emotion Peter could not read. He fidgeted in his seat, biting his nails.

"You are an exceptional strategist, Mrs. Mulciber. Perhaps your husband would like the honour of disposing of the half-breed?"

Mulciber's smile sent shivers down Peter's spine.

"Certainly, my Lord."

* * *

_February 26__th__ 1981. Diagon Alley. Slug and Jigger's Apothecary. 15:37._

The shop was empty, dark and gloomy. Peter's hands shook as he poured Doxycide from one container to another, spilling the foul smelling contents on the cabinet. He dropped the glass phial and cursed under his breath, bending to pick up the pieces and sobbing quietly.

"Peter?"

Anna leant on the counter, her hair falling from its confines and into her eyes. The rain had drenched her curls. She had not bothered to dry them though they clung to her forehead.

"I've done all that I can."

"Have you found him?"

Peter sobbed. "Even if I had, what would I say?" He ran a hand through his bright blonde hair. He pulled out clumps as he paced. "I've done the best I can. I've got his mother out of the house. She can't defend herself and he'd be preoccupied with saving her. At least now he has a chance."

Anna shook her head. "You know he doesn't."

Peter threw his hands in the air. "It's just you and Charles. So don't fight. It's one-on-one."

Furious tears welled in Anna's eyes. "Jesus Christ, you are the singularly most self-obsessed son-of-a-bitch I have ever met. You asked me to keep him safe and I upheld my end of the bargain, Peter. I've been tortured, I've narrowly escaped both being crushed and burned to death, I lost my best-friend, I lost my _baby_. Don't ask me to lose my life, Peter." She gasped for breath. "If he matters that much to you, if he's your best-friend, why aren't you _there_?"

Peter laughed bitterly. "I'm not. I'm the third-wheel. He'd lie for me. He'd _die_ for James. Don't tell me I matter to him." He glared across the counter. "And you're one to bloody well talk!"

"Don't mistake what he means to me, Peter. Don't be a fool."

"I'm not a fool. I don't know much about myself, I don't think I even know who I am anymore, but I know I'm not a fool. I know things, Anna. I know you've never done anything for another person without there being something in it for you."

Anna's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I went through that stage. I hate myself, Peter. You can't even begin to understand just how much I hate myself. It's a struggle to get through every day. Sometimes, when the clock strikes midnight, I congratulate myself on managing to last another day." She threw away her tears as though they scorched her skin. "Don't tell me you understand and don't pretend that you know me or how it feels to be me. I've never done anything selfless? Maybe you're right, but I'll tell you this, you insensitive bastard, I lost my baby protecting him. That child was the last thing I had. I don't even know if it was his. I'll _never_ know, but it represented the person I could have been. It represented everything good and right that I have ever done in my life and I lost it keeping my promise to you. I lost it keeping him safe - keeping him alive. DON'T FUCKING TELL ME I'VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING FOR ANOTHER PERSON! Because guess what? There wasn't a fucking reward at the end of that."

The bell rang and she swung round.

"I'm looking for a Hiccoughing Solution."

Peter nodded to his customer. "Yeah. Third aisle. Middle shelf." Turning to Anna, he asked, "Did you want something?"

Anna smirked. "Nothing you can give me." She strode to the door and on her way out, turned to face him, "Goodbye, Peter. Thanks for all your help."

* * *

_February 27__th__ 1981. Glenridding. 01:14._

Her body was surprisingly light for her size. She was limp and cold when he lifted her torso and flung her into the grave he and Mulciber had dug in the garden. Rigor mortis had started to set in. Mulciber wouldn't touch her. He turned away as Peter shoveled the earth atop his wife's body.

"She jumped in front of the curse," said Mulciber.

Peter swallowed hard.

"Your friend is alive."


	5. In which Lupin is spared

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: This one leads straight on from the last (makes a change, right?) in the sense that it's the immediate aftermath of Anna's death. I promise the next one will be light. **

"_When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels, To keep me from harm… But my heart it is brighter than all of the many stars of the sky, For it sparkles with Annie. It glows with the light of the love of my Annie. With the thought of the light of the eyes of my Annie._" - "For Annie" - Edgar Allan Poe.

_February 26__th__. Sleepy Cottage. Hope Cove. 23:40. _

Her eyes were dull and dark, still wide with shock. Small amounts of blood seeped from the head-wound she had gained on impact against the flagstone floor. Lupin, frighteningly detached as though he were a bystander watching himself go through the motions, began to clean it up.

Mulciber stared at the scene below him and dropped his wand. It landed with a clatter on the stone floor and rolled under the table. His breaths came in short shallow gasps. He looked across the body to Lupin. "What do I do?"

"I would have thought," said Lupin coldly, "that you would have enough expertise with this curse to know that mouth-to-mouth isn't going to work."

Mulciber sobbed.

"I can't take her. They'll do things to her…to her body…and they'll…" He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. It was a child-like gesture, alien coupled with his square jaw, treacle-coloured stubble, and broad shoulders. Though slightly taller than him, Lupin felt almost claustrophobic beside him.

"Bury her. Burn her. Do whatever she wanted. Please. Not for me, for her."

Mulciber glared at him and spat, "You think I give a shit about what you want for her? I'm her husband. I don't care if she's knocking you off, I'm her _husband_!"

Lupin averted his eyes. "She wasn't 'knocking me off'."

Mulciber sniffed. His chest heaved as he tried to hold back his tears. "Don't play me for a fool. I know you think I can't spell my own name, but I can count to fucking nine, Lupin! That baby was due in April. I was in Albania until the end of August. Doesn't take a fucking genius, does it?"

Lupin licked his dry lips. He sucked in a breath through tight lips. "August to April _is _nine months. Look, I'm sorry. I needed comfort. It was the only way she knew how to give it. I would never have-"

Mulciber wiped his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "That's not what Nott told me. Nott told me you met her twice in October and you fucked her then. Oh, and cherry on the cake, you asked her to run away with you." He laughed genuinely. "Really? Did you really think she would?"

Lupin swallowed. "I…I thought that if there was the smallest chance it was my child, then I should save it from…"

"From?"

Lupin raised his chin, his eyes blazing. "From the man who just murdered his wife in a stranger's kitchen." He frowned. "How the hell were you speaking to Electra Nott anyway?"

"Orestes," replied Mulciber. "He was quite pally with his sister. She was my wife's best friend. Don't think I don't know."

"What sort of information has she been passing you?"

Mulciber laughed. "She's the least of your worries, Lupin. She hasn't told me jack-shit. She hasn't spoken to my wife in months and I've not got the time of day for her. Will you ask Black to tell her what's happened?"

"I won't get the chance, will I?" Lupin sighed. "All right. I'll do whatever I have to do. I'll come back with you."

Mulciber laughed mirthlessly. "She _died_ for you! That's how you're going to repay her, is it? You're going to play into the Dark Lord's hands? No you're not. I'll make damn sure of it. I loved her and if she wanted to keep you alive, then I'm damn well going to do it. I don't care what I have to do, but you're surviving this war if it fucking kills me. Understood?"

Lupin gawped. "Not in the slightest."

"If Anna had said the word, I'd have stopped breathing. I didn't know why she came here tonight. I didn't know she felt so strongly for you. All I know is that she just gave her life for you and I won't have that sacrifice wasted. I'm never going to see her again. I'm never going to wake up to a warm bed again. I'm never going to kiss her again. I'm never going to hear her laugh again. All for you. _All_ for you. That's why she married me, isn't it? For you. So no. No, you're not coming back with me." Mulciber sniffed. "Right. I've got to move her body. If you want to live, which I assure you that you do, you've got to leave."

Lupin laughed bitterly. "You think I'm walking out of my mother's home and leaving you here? Are you out of your mind?"

Mulciber rolled his eyes. "No harm's going to come to her. I'll make sure of that for you if that's what it takes to get you out of here."

Lupin shook his head.

"Listen, half-breed, I'm letting you live because that's what she wanted, not out of the goodness of my own heart, all right? No-one else is going to agree with me. You and I have reached a stalemate. That doesn't mean you're safe from harm. It doesn't mean the Dark Lord won't send someone else. _I_ am sending for someone else. I can't move her alone and you sure as hell can't come with me. So if you want to stay alive, you'd better get a move on." He reached for Lupin's wrist and wrapped his hand around it. Immediately he dropped it and screamed. He stared down at his swollen right hand. It was an angry red, throbbing as blisters burst from his palm.

Lupin winced. "Put it under cold water. It's the tap on the left."

Mulciber did as instructed and turned back to Lupin. "What have you done to yourself?"

Lupin shook his head. "Nothing."

"Bloody _something_," spat Mulciber. "Just _look_ at my fucking hand!"

A faint frown line materialised on Lupin's forehead. He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe you've caught something."

Mulciber turned on him. The tap was still running. "You'd better pray to every God you've heard of that I've not caught it from _you._" He turned around and placed his hand under the water.

Lupin glared at his back. "Well, of course you haven't, _arse_. Firstly, I'd have to have bitten you. Secondly, it doesn't show itself in anyone's hands, blisters or no. Thirdly, most importantly, it would have to be a full moon and it's not."

Mulciber did not look at him but hissed, "If I were you, I'd learn when to hold my tongue. She wanted you alive. I've kept you alive. There are plenty of things I can do to you, half-breed, that wouldn't end in death, though I don't deny you'd be praying for it by the time I'd be through with you."

Lupin opened his mouth to reply, but as Mulciber swung round to glare at him, thought better of it.

"Good," spat Mulciber. "Now go."

Lupin knelt beside the body on the floor, remembering the soft lilt in her voice, the blush in her cheeks, the smell of her perfume, the light in her eyes. He pushed her hair back from her forehead. "I want to tell you I'll be drinking from your skull for this," he said, getting to his feet, "but I know she wouldn't want that. So I'm going to content myself with the knowledge that whatever you do to attempt to redeem yourself, you're going to burn in hell. I think that'll help me sleep at night."

"I saw," said Mulciber, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Saw what?"

"Travers' face."

Lupin raised his eyebrows, a faint expression of surprise in his eyes. "Good. You were supposed to."

Mulciber smirked. "So you're one to talk about heaven and hell. I've killed men, but I've never tortured them until they passed out and then left them to die."

Lupin merely looked at him. "I didn't say I wouldn't be joining you." He frowned deeply. "I untied him. I didn't leave him to die. That's just how he left my father. I don't see -"

"I'm not having this discussion with you. I'm not discussing _anything_ with you. We're not _friends_, Lupin. We're not even _equals_. So why are you still here?"

Lupin gazed in terrified wonder around the room. It was unlit, but the long oak table which took up most of the floor-space could be identified in the gloom. His mother's Christmas lights, hung from the ceiling all the year round, swung slightly in the February breeze drifting through the open windows. Faintly, he heard the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. This had once been his childhood home, his sanctuary from the world where he would be cocooned in woolen jumpers, fed chicken soup, and made to feel loved and wanted and safe. He could just make out the tall chair at the head of the table on which his father had insisted sitting at every Sunday morning while he drank numerous cups of tea, read the paper, and told his son to cut his hair, take off his tartan drainpipes and dress properly. The dog basket, out of use since the bloodhound's death eight years previously and occasionally loaned by the giant black cat who had adopted him, had been pushed under the bench his mother had taken off the council's hands and never used, opposite the front door. He, his friends, his parents, waved from painted blue wooden frames above the AGA. His sanctuary had become a vision of his hell.

"Because I don't want to leave," he whispered. "If this had happened anywhere else, this is the first place I'd go. The truth is that I don't know where I'll go when I leave here. I don't think I can ever come back here and be happy and that terrifies me." He took a deep breath and a last look at the corpse before Apparating to Godric's Hollow.

The heavens had opened. The grass on the village green was still damp. Lupin trudged through it until he reached the church. Realising it was dangerous to so much as be in James' general vicinity, he turned on his heel and materialised outside Peter's home. He knocked the door, but received no answer. If he was completely honest with himself, he had not expected one. It was past midnight. Through the bullets of rain bouncing off his head, he hiked the mountain behind Peter's terraced red brick house.

He reached the peak and looked out onto the town. The streetlights blurred. His eyes were tired. There was little point in attempting to dry the bench as the rain continued to drench him. He sat in a large puddle which had formed in the slight groove of the wood.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Overcome with emotion and fatigue, he began to sob. "How could you do this to me?"

* * *

Lupin awoke beside the bench, lying on the wet grass. His eyelids were tender and raw. Tear tracks glared a dull white against his skin. He ignored the violent hiccoughs that wracked his upper body.

The sun was rising on the other side of the mountain, casting a pale yellow hue across the little town tucked away in the valley. He got to his feet and wrung out the sleeves of his coat.

Sleepy Cottage was unchanged. The dew on the lawn caught the early morning's rays. The chickens had been let out of their coop and picked at the earth, searching for worms. The clouds that seemed to have emptied across the country had moved on, leaving a pale blue sky and a crisp winter morning. The birds sung to one another from their nests on either side of the chimney. The front door had been left open. Lupin crept toward it, torn between relief and alarm at the sound of humming in the kitchen. He cleared his throat loudly in the porch.

"Hello, darling. Were you here last night?"

Lupin nodded. "Did I wake you?"

His mother shook her head. "I was in the abbey. I had a message regarding your Aunt Jane. Charlotte and I drove all the way up there. Turns out, she was absolutely fine. I don't think I've ever been so relieved. I came straight back. I've been driving all night. Do you want some tea?"

Lupin glanced around the room. Mulciber and his chosen companion had left no traces of their presence.

"Thank you." He sat at the kitchen table and took a piece of leftover toast from the rack. He ate it dry. It was cold.

His mother set the steaming mug before him and propped a folded piece of parchment against it. "This was left for you when I came down this morning. I thought you and your friends might have been here."

Lupin nodded. "Yeah. Yes, we were. Thanks."

It was addressed to 'Remus Lupin'. He was pleased to note that Mulciber had been mindful that he may not be the person to find it. He unfolded the parchment with shaking hands.

_We are burying her. Her body will be safe. Do not attempt to find her grave. Do not attempt to contact me._


	6. In which Sirius talks dirty

**Disclaimer: See first chapter**

**A/N: Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. I promised you a light one and I hope I've delivered it.**

"Sirius, two flaws, but they are both so, _so_ major. Firstly, that's not your address, it's James', and secondly, perhaps most importantly, you cannot cook."

"I know_. _But _you_ can."

- Remus Lupin to Sirius Black, Daring Nerve and Chivalry, Chapter 35.

_November 21__st __1978. Fulham. 18:30._

"I was thinking something fashionable as a starter. We - _you_ - could have a prawn cocktail. They're all the rage and it's just drizzling pink sauce and some prawns over lettuce. Any fool can do that, _but_ I thought the main could make up for the simplicity. I'm pretty good at beef Wellington and cooking some carrots and beans in butter is nothing. Now, I don't want to blow my own horn, but the dessert is going to be a masterpiece. I'm torn between crème brûlée - lovely, but I don't think she'll buy the idea of your making it - and tiramisu. Now, the wonderful thing about tiramisu is that it tastes like nothing on earth and looks like it's just been flung together, but it's harder than it looks without being Cordon Bleu. What do you think?"

Sat at James' kitchen table, idly picking the varnish off it with his thumbnail, Sirius gave a small, pitying laugh. "Moony, you seem to be mistaking me for somebody who cares. This evening is about charming Nott back into bed with me. Remus, we're eighteen! It's not about _dessert_. I'm hoping we won't even get that far before she's halfway up the stairs. You can be cooking Ambrosia down here and unless she ends up licking it off me, I honestly couldn't give a shit."

Lupin leaned against the cooker. "Tell me you're not serious. She's not going to have sex with you, Sirius. Even if she was going to, where would you have it? James and Lily's bed? Don't be disgusting."

Sirius widened his eyes and spoke slowly, as though educating a moron. "I used to live here, Remus. I have my own bed." He sat up, his shoulders arching until his silhouette on the flagstone floor was almost catlike. His eyes shone. "Though James' is bigger."

Resisting the urge to ask him how many girls had told him that, Lupin turned his attentions back to the prawns on the hob. "Surely, the size of the bed doesn't matter."

"Remus, you might be a Missionary man who can get down to business in a twin bed, but that doesn't mean the rest of us have sex-lives as square as yours."

Stirring a thousand island dressing and refusing to turn around, Lupin replied, "And who says I'm a Missionary man?"

"Er…every girl you've ever fucked. All one of them."

"Oh, _everyone_ starts off with Missionary."

"_I_ didn't."

"No, of course not. How foolish of me. You opted for Reverse Cowgirl because otherwise you'd have to look at her face and form an actual emotional attachment."

Sirius laughed. "Come on. I was, what, fifteen?" He strolled over to the cooker, grinning. "You thought I was going to be moaning, 'Oh, sixth-year-Hufflepuff-whose-name-I-can't-even-remember, make _love_ to me. Look me in the _eyes_.'" He dipped his index finger in Lupin's sauce and flicked a bright pink gobbet at his cheek. "Get real, Moony."

Lupin sighed and wiped the small smear with the kitchen towel. He cast a reproachful glance at Sirius. "You're not wearing that, are you?"

Sirius pulled at his t-shirt. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Well, it's not very sexy, is it? If you're trying to pull the girl you're kidding yourself that you don't have feelings for, surely you don't want to wear the Ramones t-shirt you wore to bed last night."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "It's just a casual fuck."

Lupin grinned. "Yeah, sure. That's why you sent James away for the weekend and told Electra you'd _cook_. You can get casual sex at The Hog's Head no trouble at all."

Sirius gave him a sarcastic smile. "After which, you end up with no wallet and a handful of diseases, some of which you can't even pronounce. No, thank you. I think I'll stick with my original plan."

Lupin shook his head despairingly. "Go and put a shirt on, for God's sake."

Sirius was appalled. "A shirt? No fucking way."

"Frightened she'll think you actually care about her, are you? I'm not saying wear a tie and a suit. Undo the top two buttons, roll the sleeves up to your elbows. Sorted." Lupin turned the oven down and sighed contentedly. "Perfect. I'll sort everything out and then you can just plate up."

Sirius bit his lip and returned to his seat at the kitchen table. "Do you think she will think I care about her?"

Lupin shrugged. "Who can say? The trouble with Electra is that she reminds me too much of you. She might not be interested in my tiramisu either, which ought to be a crime, but nevertheless, I think she'll be expecting you both to keep up the pretence that this is more than just shagging." He untied the strings of the apron he had found in the cupboard under the sink. "_Is_ it more than just shagging?"

"I don't know."

"Well, do you just want to bang her brains out?"

Sirius frowned. "Yeah, but I know I was a dick and I want her to know I know I was a dick. Does that count as 'just shagging'? I mean, did you just want to bang Anna's brains out?"

Lupin took the seat opposite him and nodded. "Pretty much. I mean, I'd just turned eighteen and I'd just discovered sex. I'd been so deprived that I'd been wanting to bang the brains out of anything in a skirt for quite some time, so maybe I don't count."

"But you loved her, didn't you?"

"Of course I did."

"How did you know?"

Lupin shrugged. "I don't know. I think I'd always been a bit in love with her. Maybe a bit in awe of her at first." He sighed.

"Look, mate, I'm sorry. Don't worry about it."

Lupin shook his head. "No, no. It's all right. I loved her smile. I loved her laugh. I loved _making_ her laugh. If I didn't make her laugh at some point during the day, I felt a bit disappointed in myself. It was that sort of thing. When she let me have sex with her, I was absolutely terrified. The relief I felt the first I managed to give her an or…to…you know, I mean, it took me a while to work out what she wanted me to do and…well, you know."

Sirius grinned. "You mean you were shit in the sack."

"No! Well…yeah. She didn't laugh about me with her friends, she didn't give up on me, she didn't dump me. I think I might have realizsd I loved her when I noticed I could tell when she wasn't faking anymore - when she looked me in the eyes, when she made these little noises, when she smiled as she kissed me and I could feel her lips turning up." He stopped, noticing that Sirius was staring at him in quiet awe.

"What little noises?"

"You know, those little squeaky noises girls make when they're…you know…having a nice time."

"You mean when you give them an orgasm?"

Lupin frowned. "Well, yes, but you make it sound so crude."

"Well, maybe it's just the Catholicism talking, but _you_ make it sound like you were taking her out for a picnic." He paused. His grey eyes glinted. "Knowing Anna, you probably were. A decent-sized pie would probably have the desired effect."

Lupin laughed. "Stop it."

"It must have been like dating Buddha."

"I mean it, Sirius."

Sirius grinned. "No you don't. You know it's funny. You know it's fucking _true_, that's why." He smiled softly. "Cheers, Remus."

"No problem. Just promise me something."

"What?"

"_Never_ try to have this conversation with me again."


	7. In which James is coerced

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: After a light chapter seems the best time to write the beginning of the end.**

"_Some say the world will end in fire,  
__Some say in ice.  
__From what I've tasted of desire  
__I hold with those who favor fire.  
__But if it had to perish twice,  
__I think I know enough of hate  
__To say that for destruction ice  
__Is also great  
__And would suffice_."

"Fire and Ice" - Robert Frost.

_July 3__rd__ 1981. Glenridding. 02:15._

Despite the heat of the summer afternoon throughout which they had sat on their small and somewhat unsteady wooden balcony attempting to soak up a little sun, the early morning was blisteringly cold. The black sky was vast and cloudless. The sliver of silver moon worked both for and against them. The poor light it provided was enough to illuminate the former farmhouse against the black fields beyond. It allowed them cover in the surrounding orchard. It also meant that Lupin had not had sufficient time to recover after the effects of the full moon. As Sirius shivered and drew his arms tight around his chest, his right hand gripping his wand tight enough to whiten his knuckles, he pondered these things.

After Voldemort's wildly unsuccessful attempt at removing him, both he and his Death Eaters had to know that Lupin was the spy. It would have been the first thing the mole had revealed. From the moment the traitor had joined Voldemort's ranks, there had been a price on Lupin's head. The little boy who had been too shy to meet the eyes of his peers on their first day was now one of Voldemort's most wanted and Sirius, knowing that James was safely hidden in Godric's Hollow and Peter was protected by his own incompetence, was ever aware that Lupin was still sent out to the frontline - sent out tonight with his price ever increasing, both wounded and fatigued by his condition.

He was sure Voldemort was also aware of this. Hence the reason Death Eater meetings were now held only days into the new moon.

"Stay here," he whispered.

"Are you out of your mind?" Lupin hissed in return. "Listen, forget everything else. Forget Lycanthropy, forget the fact that I'm the spy. If something happens to you in there, I'm your only chance."

Sirius pulled down the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. "You're still recovering, Remus."

"If I'd thought myself incapable, I wouldn't have agreed to it."

But he would have, Sirius thought. If Dumbledore said 'Jump', Lupin said 'How high?'. It had always been that way - even through school. He was surprised in their later years. Lupin had developed a very different identity from the one with which he had started his first year. He had come to resent being dictated to.

The candle in a windowsill was lit and the house was no longer in darkness. An eerie green glow emanated from the drawing room. Sirius watched the window with baited breath, perfectly still for the first time since their arrival. He looked far more like he should have been a cat than a dog. His bright eyes glittered with anticipation, narrowing in concentration.

"Ready?"

Lupin nodded.

"Where are we going? The hall?"

"The drawing room is upstairs," Lupin whispered. "The landing."

"They'll hear us Apparate."

"They'll hear us walking up the damn stairs."

Sirius scoffed. "No, they won't. They'll be talking. Their own noise will cover ours."

Lupin shook his head. "The steps creak."

"How in the hell would you know that?"

Too ashamed to admit that the late Mrs. Mulciber had taken to entertaining there, Lupin shrugged off the question. "I just do."

"Fine. The landing then. If they hear us, you'd better be prepared to fight."

Lupin wasn't sure what had prompted it, nor was he entirely sure the change in Sirius' manner was not merely a figment of his paranoid imagination, but he immediately felt the need to justify his whole existence to Sirius Black, as though God had descended and disapproved of him.

With the exception of the drawing room, the door to which was closed, the house was in darkness. Only Sirius's eyes and alabaster skin could be glimpsed in the darkness.

"Get up against the wall," Sirius mouthed, ushering Lupin to the other side of the drawing room door, pinning his back to the wallpaper with an expression that said he would like to paste him there.

"What's the matter with you?" Lupin asked.

Sirius shushed him violently, without making a sound.

"You want to listen in?"

Sirius nodded.

"Trying to do my job now, are you?"

"You're not very fucking good at it, are you?" Sirius spat. "Shut up."

The silence on the other side of the door was all consuming. Sirius glanced down at his hands to find them shaking uncontrollably. Footsteps echoed softly on the carpet. The doorknob turned slowly, noiselessly.

In his fear, despite the doubt that was creeping over him, Sirius searched for eye-contact, relieved when Lupin held his gaze and nodded. No matter for whom he was spying, no matter whether the traitor had given his name, it was not a case of dying _beside _Lupin. The powers that be had dictated that the object of any of their missions involving him was to protect the spy and his identity, and though Sirius was becoming increasingly suspicious of Lupin's movements, it would be a case of dying _for _him. His breath rattled as he exhaled.

He pushed himself as hard as he could against the wall and waited with baited breath for the battle to begin - a battle he would surely lose. Just as it was his duty to fight, it was Lupin's to return to Dumbledore. They were both aware of this and yet, as Sirius glanced toward the door, Lupin had not. He waited, wand out and eyes wide.

The face of the burly Death Eater at the door was concealed by his mask, but as it was his house, Sirius guessed it was Mulciber. He turned, looked directly at Lupin and hissed under his breath. He closed the door behind him and Sirius was once again hidden in the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" Mulciber whispered.

"I'm working," Lupin replied.

"I can't allow you to report this. I make plenty of allowances for you, half-breed. I can't allow you to spy."

Lupin nodded. "I know."

"Then run. And don't be so fucking reckless again. What if it hadn't been me? I thought I told you I didn't want to see you."

Lupin cringed. "I know. I'm…I'm sorry."

"Get out of my sight before I change my fucking mind. I thought I told you not to play into his hands."

"I'm not," Lupin retorted hotly. His voice was still a whisper, but there was an unsettling undertone.

"You come here. You stand outside the door and you don't even bother to remain silent. Some fucking spy." He turned the way he had came and returned to the room. "No-one my Lord. Old houses often creak and make strange noises. I propose we meet somewhere else if it continues to _plague_ me."

Lupin breathed a soft sigh of relief and, still leaning against the wall as if his knees had buckled under the strain, collapsed to the floor.

Sirius cast a disparaging glance in his direction.

"Padfoot-"

"Don't call me that."

* * *

_July 3__rd__ 1981. Godric's Hollow. 14:00._

Harry had come to adore his godfather, associating him with the sugar and small gifts he brought with him every time he crossed the threshold. As Sirius materialised in the living room, Harry babbled at him happily.

Sirius offered him a grim smile.

"James?"

"Pad?"

The voice came from the kitchen and Sirius headed toward the archway. Their little boy played in the next room while James chopped vegetables for Lily's casserole, to which she was devoting all of her attention, but she waved with one hand and stirred with the other. It was a picture, an ideal, that ought to have mellowed him. He came here often, though he knew that he shouldn't, because the Potters calmed him. The world was in chaos, but safe behind these walls they lived ordinary lives.

"James, we need to talk."

James was still smiling, chopping carrots with an almost gay abandon. "Fire away."

"Can you try to make them at least roughly the same size?" his wife chided. "They're not going to cook at the same time otherwise."

"_Alone_."

James abruptly ceased to butcher Lily's carrots and frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

Lily held out her hand for the knife and flicked her wand at the pot she had been stirring. She turned her attentions to the vegetables while the wooden spoon did her share of the work.

Halfway up the stairs, Sirius blurted out his news, unable to remain silent any longer. "I found the traitor."

James swung round to face him. "You _what_?"

"You might need to sit down."

James, who had been on his way to usher them both into the armchairs in his office, simply sat on the steps and looked up at Sirius, wide-eyed with wonder and fear.

"James, it's Remus."

James laughed. It was a high-pitched sound that Sirius was unused to hearing from him. Unsure whether it was one of genuine mirth or release of tension, Sirius stared down at his best friend.

"You can't put your family at risk, James. I can't let you do that."

James got to his feet. "Don't be ridiculous. It's no more Remus than it is my left boot."

"Just hear me out. We went to Mulciber's place last night. He knew _everything_ about the place, James. He's been to Death Eater meetings before. He even knew the stairs would creak."

James scoffed. "Oh, all stairs creak. You know what Mad-Eye-Moony's like. He's totally sold on this 'Constant Vigilance' stuff. He was probably just over-thinking. You know he can worry like no-one else we know."

Sirius sighed irritably. "We argued."

James groaned.

"I know, all right? I _know_ I was stupid. Mulciber came out and he looked right at Remus. Right at him. They had a _conversation_, James. They've spoken before. Mulciber's protecting him. Why?"

James frowned. "What was actually said?"

"That Mulciber had protected him before. That he had warned him about playing into Voldemort's hands. He didn't even see me."

James smiled. "Then there's your proof. Remus would have let him go ahead and dispose of you. He didn't."

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a breath. "What have I got to say to get through to you? Voldemort is offering equal rights to werewolves. What has Remus wanted all his life? Mulciber is protecting him. They have always hated each other. After what happened with Mulciber's wife, he ought to be tearing Remus' throat out. Suddenly he's 'making allowances' for him. He's obviously passing information to Mulciber who's passing it on to Voldemort. But _why_? He's been there before. That's obvious. So why is his identity being kept from Voldemort? Unless Travers…" He trailed off and chewed his thumbnail. "And there'd be no point in 'disposing of me'."

James nodded. "There'd be _every_ point. You'd just listened in on an incriminating conversation. Remus is under direct instruction that if his position or safety is compromised, he's to get out. That would be his alibi. As it is, you're alive and well."

"Why is Mulciber at pains to ensure his safety then? Explain that one away."

James frowned deeply. "Well that _is_ a mystery."

"And where's he been going all this time? We don't see him anymore. He leaves the flat in the dead of night. Where does he go?"

"Have you tried asking him?"

Sirius admitted defeat. "I've given you fair warning. As far as I'm concerned, that's my conscience clear. I've done my duty."

James sighed. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"He lives with me, James. He's spying for them. If anything should happen to me, I can't reveal your location if you choose another Secret Keeper. If they torture me and you've chosen someone else, I can't tell them where you are."

James nodded. "I see."

"It's just a precaution. We don't have to tell Remus that we know it's him. We shouldn't tell him anything until he can prove he's innocent."

James smiled sadly. "What _are_ we going to do about him then?"

"I'll keep my ear to the ground on that one. Just do me a favour and until this is sorted out, switch. Do not tell a soul. You need someone he's not going to send Voldemort after if he suspects I'm no longer your Secret Keeper. We live together, James. He's going to know I'm not coming here anymore. He's going to know I'm not doing your weekly shop."

"You make it sound like I require Home Help."

Sirius cast him a withering glance. "Please."

"Who then?"

"Peter. Peter's protected by his own incompetence. Now so are you."

"I still refuse to believe he'd do it. When he's proved himself to you, I want you to remember I said that."

"What matters most to me, James, is that _if_ he proves himself to me, you're here to remind me that you said that."

James could only nod.


	8. In which Peter stands vigil

**Disclaimer: See first chapter**

**A/N: Meadowes was actually killed in 1981, but I wrote Chapter 27 of Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry two years ago and for the purpose of compliancy with its sister-story, I'm sticking with the 1980 date for this chapter. Apologies if this bothers anyone.**

"_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival._" - C.S. Lewis, _The Four Loves_.

_March 3__rd__ 1980. Aberyswyth. 01:50._

When the barn owl landed on his window ledge, a note written on clean, blue-lined white paper attached to its outstretched foot, Peter knew he didn't have the answer required of him.

At least, not until Mrs. Mulciber's Great Grey swooped through his window and perched, somewhat presumptuously, Peter thought, on his headboard.

_Aberyswyth. Know you'll know where to find him. I'm a coward. Bleeding heavily, but alive on departure._

_Save him._

_A._

Peter didn't have the nerve to reply to Mrs. Lupin's letter. He wasn't sure that he even knew how to breathe. His lungs seemed to have defeated him. He'd been at the Order meeting - the meeting where Dumbledore had announced his interest in the abandoned state home where it was rumored Alexei Alexandrov, the Russian writer who was researching the Elder Wand extensively, was hiding out. He had passed this news to Voldemort. He hadn't thought it was of much interest to Voldemort. He hadn't thought Dumbledore would send Lupin, though it made a great deal of sense to him in retrospect. Of course it would be a matter for his spy. Lupin should have Apparated out at the first sign of danger. Why hadn't he done his job?

John Lupin's owl waited patiently on the windowsill, its yellow orbs peering at him in the darkness of his room.

"No reply," he told it.

How could he tell the woman who had greeted him every summer holiday with warm smiles and fresh scones, who had concerned herself with his wellbeing as though he were her own son, that he was at fault?

And worse, it was _Remus_. _Remus_ who had helped him perfect his charms in return for Peter fixing his potions ad hoc in the middle of class. _Remus_ who had taken Sirius aside and told him exactly what he thought of him after he'd spent all of first and second period laughing loudly and waxing philosophical on the subject of bisexuality. _Remus_ whose unquestioning loyalty leant itself so well to dropping everything to solve someone else's problems.

Despite his fear of what he would find there, Peter reached for his wand and Apparated into the cover of the trees behind the imposing manor house. He took a deep breath and trudged toward the back door.

The house was in darkness. The mark was not raised over the roof and Peter allowed himself to exhale. He opened the back door and stepped into a long and dark corridor. The first door allowed entry to a small parlour with a fireplace slightly too large for the room. The second, the kitchen. The third, the dining area, led onto a monochrome tiled floor that was slippery underfoot. It smelled overpoweringly of copper.

Peter wretched as he locked eyes with Dorcas Meadowes. Her face had been slashed. Her eyes, glazed over in death, were wide with fear. Her mouth wrenched open in a scream. Her blood drenched the bottom of his trouser legs. Chills ran up Peter's spine and his scream broke the sound barrier.

He held his breath and stepped forward to reach Lupin's body, propped against the wall and coated in both his and Meadowes' blood.

"Remus?"

Lupin did not respond, but Peter, overwhelmed with terror and anxiety, laughed with relief as his chest rose and fell. He had been tortured, but they had left him alive.

* * *

_March 3__rd__ 1980. St. Mungo's, Spell Damage. 02:30._

Peter sipped his sweet tea, his teeth knocking against the china rim, chattering as he tried to sip slowly as he had been instructed. He was told to sit in the tearoom, but he refused to leave the bloodied body beside him. His hands were still stained with blood, now old and slightly crusted.

His hands shook as he laid the cup to rest on its saucer resting atop the beside cabinet. Peter risked a glance at Lupin's unresponsive body. He was still bleeding freely. Not only had his body been sliced by the curse, but even his oldest scars had opened. Peter began to wonder how much blood he had left.

"I don't understand," he whimpered.

The Healers ignored him, hooking a large bag labeled 'B negative' to the wall.

"No," Peter protested. "No, you can't put that in him. He doesn't like needles."

The Healer Peter presumed to be in charge, stopped and stared at him. "Mr. Pettigrew, I am trying to treat my patient. If you cannot sit in silence, I'm going to remove you personally. You told me I wouldn't even know you were here."

"No, no you won't. I'm sorry."

A muscle jumped in one side of the Healer's jaw. "In any case, I can't inject him until he stops bleeding."

Peter shook his head. "And let him bleed to death?"

"Mr. Pettigrew, not being a medical man yourself, I can't say I expected you to know this, but the blood type B negative is one of the world's rarest. I let him bleed or I pump countless bags of our most valuable blood supplies into him and onto the bed sheets."

Peter got to his feet and held her gaze. "Well, I'm O. Give him mine if you have to."

The Healer sighed. "I'm doing my best. Now if you'll excuse me?" She raised her wand and began to stitch the smaller wounds.

Peter returned to his seat.

* * *

He sat in the dark, watching Lupin, waiting for the smallest sign of lucidity. When none came, Peter took a deep breath and tried not to call for the help of a professional. The Healers, he was sure, were getting tired of him. They knew he was no relation. Not only did he look nothing like Lupin, but he'd been stupid enough to give his name. They had been compliant enough to let him stay when he shouldn't and he wasn't about to push his luck.

He wondered when, _if_, Mrs. Mulciber would arrive. She would have the answers that he needed. He busied himself constructing his alibi. Sirius had told him that he was on his way and had not required any story from him, but when he arrived, he would want details.

An anonymous note. Peter had been awoken by an anonymous tip-off. If anyone asked him who he was betting on, he'd stick with the truth - Anna Mulciber. He had done as he was told. He knew it was foolish. He knew he might be walking into a trap, but he didn't think. He acted. If Sirius asked questions, well what would he have done in the circumstances?

Peter jumped as he caught sight of him beckoning outside the rectangular pane of glass in the door. He was convinced his paranoid imagination had invented him.

Peter crept toward the door and slowly opened it an inch, letting in a long thin ray of light.

"Pete, they won't let me in there. Can we…um…upstairs?"

Peter winced. "I don't know. I don't really want to leave him."

"That bad?"

"Touch and go. He lost nearly three pints of blood, Sirius."

Sirius swore under his breath and Peter nodded.

"You should come back in the morning. They'll let you in then. Bring his mother with you. She'll need you there for support. You might need each other. I should go back."

"Well is he going to be all right? I mean, what have they told you? When's he going to be allowed out?"

Peter shrugged and shook his head. "I need answers before this even really sinks in. He shouldn't even have been there. I know what happened to Dorcas is ten times worse. I know she's dead, but-"

Sirius nodded. "But this is Remus."

"_Yes_!"

"I need to see him, Peter."

"Then come in the morning. Pad, it's going to be all right. I'm here."

Sirius sniffed and nodded, pressing his lips together so hard that they had taken on a pale hue. He sucked in a breath. "Peter, I don't want him to die if I'm not there."

"Nobody's going to die. He's had a blood transfusion and they've stitched the wounds. He'll be all right."

Sirius massaged his temples. "Eight o'clock. I'll be here at eight. If he wakes up before then, I don't care what the Healers say, I'm talking to him."

Peter nodded. He had until eight o'clock at least.

* * *

"Can I send a message please?"

The woman filing her nails at the front desk, indicated a shelf of pygmy-owls to Peter's right and returned to her cuticles.

_He's stable. Huge blood losses. Sirius (and probably James) arriving at eight. Need to know what Remus might have heard before passing out. _

_Think you and I need to talk._


	9. In which Sirius inspires

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: I'm a little conscious that I've neglected this for a little while prior to the last update and since J.K.'s releasing that biography of Lupin on Pottermore, and since I am usually a sucker for canon, I'd better get this finished before they have chance to interfere with one another.**

**A/N: And that's a joke, I promise. I'm not **_**that**_** obsessive.**

"_You've got the words to change a nation, but you're biting your tongue. You've spent a lifetime stuck in silence, afraid you'll say something wrong…You've got a heart as loud as lions, so why let your voice be tamed?…You've got the light to fight the shadows, so stop hiding it away._" - Emeli Sandé - "_Read All About It Part III_"

_January 12__th__ 1979. Grimmauld Place. 00:00._

This, Sirius was fairly sure, counted as breaking and entering. The torrential rain had eased into drizzle, but his hair clung to the drenched skin on his exposed face and neck. The house was in darkness, the street in a silence so deep that each step into a puddle produced a wince.

Finding himself outside the front door, Sirius wondered if his key would even work in the lock. He knew his mother too well to think she'd allow him the opportunity to return without groveling.

As the lock turned, he wondered whether she had noticed the absence of the third key. He gently closed the door, relieved that the hinges did not creak. The lock clicked, the sound ringing out along the narrow hallway. Sirius pressed himself into the darkest corner he could find.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Sirius' blood ran cold. "Kreacher, I swear to Almighty God, if you open your mouth, I'm going to beat you death with this umbrella before you have chance to scream."

"You were banished from my mistress' house."

Sirius scoffed. "I wasn't sent out. I walked out. There's a very important difference, Kreacher. Not knowing much about dignity, I don't expect you to understand."

Kreacher's nostrils flared and Sirius reached for his mother's spiked umbrella.

"Are you threatening my elf?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ. I wasn't expecting a fucking reunion."

Regulus' silver eyes glinted in the darkness. "Then why did you come?" He lit the lamps along the corridor wordlessly with a flick of his wand.

Sirius glared at him and said, in a voice heavy with sarcasm, "The Prodigal Son returns, Reggie."

Regulus' eyes darkened to the colour of storm clouds. "Don't call me that. I haven't been called that since I was about twelve."

Sirius tightened his jaw. "Reggie's not Death Eater approved, is it?"

Regulus sucked in a breath, betraying his hurt. "Why are you _really_ here?"

Sirius reached for his brother's left arm. Regulus, whose cat-like reflexes had been intensified by playing Seeker for five years, was caught off-guard. Sirius' long fingers had already wrapped around his wrist, but Regulus yanked his arm back with such feral ferocity that the sleeve of his robe tore, offering a glimpse of black on brilliant white forearm.

"Stop _looking_ at it!" Regulus turned away from him and pinched his sleeve together.

"Are you actually _ashamed_?"

"It's none of your business what I am."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Look, tell the elf to mind his own fucking business and _talk_ to me."

"You shouldn't be here."

"I don't care. If you're having second thoughts-"

Regulus turned on his heel. "I am _not_ having second thoughts. I am _not_ like you. I am _not_ some bleeding-heart liberal who abandons his own flesh and blood to be some holier-than-thou fugitive."

Sirius gawped. "I _had_ to. You think I abandoned you?"

"_Think_? I'm sorry, did I _imagine_ you walking out of that door? Have I been in a coma for the last three years? Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Sirius."

Sirius laughed in disbelief. "What the fuck is your problem? You weren't exactly pleasant to me that last summer, Reg. What was I supposed to think?"

Regulus scowled and jerked his head in the direction of the front door.

"I came for something I left in my room."

Regulus gritted his teeth. "My parents are on the Riviera. Whatever you want, get it and get out and they need never know you were here."

Sirius nodded. "What about the elf?"

"Kreacher, would you mind keeping this between us?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"I trust him."

"You trust _Kreacher_ but you won't talk to _me_?"

Regulus nodded. "That about sums it up, yes."

Sirius shook his head. "What did I ever _do_ to you?"

Regulus sniffed. "Nothing. You've never done anything _for_ me either. My friends all had symbiotic relationships with their brothers. I might as well have been an only child. You didn't talk to me-"

"Hey, whoa! You didn't talk to me either. I'm just some bleeding-heart fugitive or whatever it was you accused me of being."

Regulus laughed. "I always went out of my way to help you. You came home one summer and Mother wouldn't let you eat until you apologised. You lasted a fortnight before they caught me sneaking you leftovers. You were supposed to look out for me. You were supposed to be my big brother and you weren't. You never looked out for me. You were just an entity who lived in his bedroom and wouldn't come out."

Sirius, who knew he was guilty of this but refused to accept any amount of responsibility for the manner in which his brother had turned out, replied, "What about when I gave you my ice-cream when you dropped yours?"

Regulus frowned. "I don't remember that."

"No, you probably wouldn't. You were only three."

Regulus merely looked at him.

"And what about when Mother wouldn't let you leave the table until you ate your broccoli and you started to cry so I ate it?"

Regulus nodded. "That's it, isn't it? That's all you can remember. That's all there is. Well, thanks, Sirius. I really appreciate it. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Sirius shrugged and crossed him on the stairs.

"You're not even going to apologise?"

Sirius turned. "For what? All right, I'm sorry that I didn't take you with me, but you didn't _want _to come with me. You _still_ don't want to come with me. You know you're wrong, but you don't want to admit it. You're too much of a coward to do anything about it. I'm sorry I grew up. I'll be the first to admit that I've been a fool and that on several occasions I have come _this_ close to cocking up my entire life, and I'm sorry I learn from my mistakes. I'm sorry I've become a better man. I'm sorry I believe in equality. I'm sorry I fight for freedom. I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?"

Regulus said nothing, but followed him upstairs. He leaned against Sirius' doorframe as his brother knelt before a chest of drawers and wrenched the bottom drawer open. He frowned as Sirius pulled out a battered and dusty book.

"You came here for a book of children's fairytales?"

Sirius flashed him the copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. "James and I have a theory and Dumbledore wants a copy anyway. No-one else knew where theirs was so…"

Regulus gawped. "You didn't know my mother would be out of the country. You had the _nerve_?"

Sirius smirked. "My mother is the least of my worries. I was frightened I'd find _you_. My mother is a sadistic bitch, but _you're_ the Death Eater. There's not a day that goes by when I don't remember that."

Regulus averted his eyes and addressed the floorboard. "I couldn't hurt you."

Sirius scoffed. "No?"

"No. You ate my broccoli." He turned on his heel and strode across the corridor to his own room.

"You are fucking bizarre, do you know that?"

Regulus paused in the doorway. "The feeling's more than mutual."

"Can I ask you something?" Sirius closed his door behind him and leant against it. "_Why_ do you think it's odd that I believe in freedom?"

Regulus shrugged. "Why is the sky blue?"

Sirius frowned deeply. "What kind of answer is that?"

Regulus smiled genuinely. "It's the best one you're getting. On your way out, can you tell Kreacher I'd like to see him? Thanks." He closed the door before Sirius could protest.

"Kreacher, Regulus wants you upstairs." He closed the front door behind him, more confused by his brother than ever. "Twat."


	10. In which James goes into hiding

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: And now for something completely different.**

**A/N: I know it's really short. I'm sorry. I'll make up for it.**

"_A baby is born with a need to be loved - and never outgrows it._" - Frank Howard Clark.

_September 12__th__ 1980. Godric's Hollow. 12:40._

Sometimes, often during the day when he knew Peter was fiddling around with potion ingredients and changing the world, when he knew Sirius was actively fighting against the man he was forced to hide from, when he knew Lupin was handing invaluable information to Dumbledore, James resented his son.

The child was small for his age. His jet black hair grew in all directions, thicker in the front than the back. His eyes were wide with wonder at everything he saw and heard in their home.

He rarely cried. James knew that he ought to be relieved, but he was baffled. All babies cried. Not his.

The boy had little reason to. His parents, trapped in the same four walls as he was, doted on him. He was not left alone. He was constantly fed in a bid to up his weight-gain. He was kept warm in a baby-blue fleece blanket. His every whim was pondered to.

Lily had quickly accustomed to her new life as a fugitive, hiding out with her little family. She managed smiles in the morning as she made tea and buttered toast. She spent her days curled up on the burnt orange armchair beside the fireplace, reading books the size of her head and drinking large glasses of white wine. James noticed that her measures were gradually creeping further and further toward the rim. It was the only outward appearance that all was not well.

He wasn't supposed to be left alone with his son while Lily visited her mother at her deathbed. Sirius had promised that he would sit with them and talk to them and keep the loneliness at bay. James wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved when Sirius was called into work. He missed his best friend. It was a partial reason for his being unable to warm to the child. He couldn't help but resent the boy for taking the joy out of his life and imprisoning him in their family home, for taking his dreams for their future. Harry seemed to sense this reluctance to hold him, talk to him, or play with him. He only ever seemed to want his mother's company.

Or Sirius'.

Sirius, who brought him sugar (which his mother would not allow him to eat) and gifts every time he crossed the threshold, was held extremely high in the boy's esteem. Sirius laughed and was always willing to play nonsensical childish games with him. Harry usually tired of this before his godfather did and, as a result, adored him.

James felt as though he were completely insignificant in his son's life.

He'd tried, God knows he'd tried, to maintain the pretence that he could cope. He attempted a smile for the child every time he met Harry's eyes. He never left him alone in a room. Harry went to bed a great deal earlier than his parents, who had now spent so great a time in one another's company that they had nothing to say to one another, and until he was asleep, his father sat with him.

Perhaps, thought James, his son was just as tired of his company as his wife.

The thought terrified him. He had never before pictured his role as husband and father to be redundant. He'd imagined himself as a larger-than-life character who could never be replaced in their lives, yet his wife and child seemed to be perfectly capable of forgetting him. They didn't need him. He was unable to leave the house and had lost his role as best friend. He had lost his role as provider as Sirius brought things to the house. He had never had a job and as such, had never had a role as breadwinner. His life amounted to nothing.

Until his little boy smiled at him.

At first, he wasn't sure Harry _had_ smiled. After all, he was just under six weeks old and there seemed no reason for him to smile.

James peered down at him, his hands resting on the little wooden cot as he cocked his head to one side like a sparrow.

"What are you so happy about?" He frowned. "Why am I asking you?" He sighed softly. "Of _course_ you're happy. Why wouldn't you be? That's the question, isn't it? You're warm and well-fed and you know that Mummy loves you."

Harry waved his pudgy arms in the air, his fists clenching and grasping at nothing.

"What do you want?" He lowered a hand into his son's cot and returned the child's smile as Harry gripped his finger. "And you know that Daddy loves you too, don't you, Harry? You have to know. I don't know what I'll do if you don't love me."

Harry only kicked with pleasure, smiling up at him.

"You _are_ smiling. I _knew_ you were," he lied. "Wait until we show Mummy. I bet _she_ wasn't smiling at six weeks old." Harry had still not relinquished his hold on his father's finger. "Am I to take it that you don't want that nap? If you do actually love your old man and want to play with him, please give me absolutely no signal whatsoever."

Harry merely stared up at him.

"That's good enough for me. Come on. Let's see what Mummy's been silly enough not to hide from us."

The kitchen yielded little more than a packet of crisps and a telephone. James opened the crisps and absentmindedly finished them browsing through his wife's address book.

Having settled Harry, James dialed the only number he was comfortable dialing without Dutch courage or a genuine emergency for an excuse.

He pressed a finger to his lips, but there was little need. The phone rang for whole minutes.

"I think maybe Sirius is still at work. My friends are boring." He turned to his son. "Who else can we pester? How about your aunt and uncle? Wouldn't that be funny? I don't think your mother would think so though, would she? OK, how about…I genuinely don't know who these people are."

"You know, Sirius, it rings for a reason. Hello?"

James beamed. "'Alo. We 'ave your family. I want you to 'ide the money een a green sack and-"

At the other end of the line, Lupin sighed and turned to his flat mate. "It's James pretending to be a Mafia boss so I assume it's for you."

"Oh, Moony! Why did you have to go and spoil it? I'm trying to teach the boy about Muggle culture here."

"James, the last time you put on an accent, you were traumatising twenty five-year-olds and ruining my Nativity, so please forgive me my reservations."

James turned to his sleeping son and stage-whispered. "Uncle Moony's a killjoy. What is he, Harry? A killjoy, that's right."

"'Alo. 'Ow dare you breeng deeshonour on my 'ouse."

"Pad! Brilliant. How was work?"

"Same old shit. I stole a tin of biscuits though, so it wasn't a total waste of a day. Anyway, back to beesness."

A small click was the only clue that the second receiver had been picked up.

"You're butchering the accent, you know, _both_ of you. And besides, we cannot 'elp you. We do not 'ave a green sack."

"Oh, shit. I forgot Moony's something Sicilian. What's it your uncle's in, Moon? Casa Nostril or something, isn't it?" Sirius laughed. "And did your mother never tell you it was rude to pick up the phone and listen to people's conversations or did she never get to mention it when her mouth was full of my-whoa! See you, James."

James listened to the dial tone, knowing they wouldn't see him and unsure what else to do.

"I miss you."


	11. In which Lupin enters the Lion's Den

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: November's coming and that means I am focusing 100% on my novel until December and I still have that bio to run from. I know the quote (when you read where it comes from) is going to seem inappropriate on levels you could never have imagined, but it did indeed inspire this.**

**And I promise something light and fluffy **_**very **_**soon. It's all been a bit grim lately.**

"_Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would, I'd never leave._" - A. A. Milne.

_October 30__th__ 1978. Glenridding. 17:30._

"Come in."

The hall was vast, the ceiling too high. The walls, painted crimson, seemed to be closing in on him and his footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Portraits of Mulcibers past hung on the walls in the ghastly splendour of gold gilt frames, and glared at him as he walked past.

"Where's Mulciber?" asked Lupin.

"Albania." Anna Lovett turned to him, walking backwards. "You think I'd ask you here if he was sitting in the kitchen?" She swung round, just as Lupin thought she might walk into the door, and opened it into a summer parlour, painted yellow and furnished in the same burnt orange that James had picked out only a week previously. A fire roared in the grate, the flames too large and too hot, like stepping into the second circle of hell.

"It doesn't quite fit the house."

Anna laughed. "Nothing does since I moved in. Everything's yellow or blue. It drives Charlie mad. Have a seat. Do you want something to drink?" She spoke too quickly, her voice too high.

"Are you all right?"

Anna nodded. "I think so."

Lupin frowned at her. "What do you mean by that?"

"Do you want something to drink?"

Lupin chose the seat facing the window, an armchair draped in a cream throw. "Whiskey, please, if you have it."

She reached into a tall beech cabinet, pulled out a squat honey-coloured bottle, and poured him a measure almost too large for the glass.

"Thank you. Won't you have any?"

Anna shook her head. "I shouldn't." She wrung her hands and took the seat beside his. "I er…I wanted to talk to you."

Lupin nursed his glass. "Fire away."

"I um…I've been to see a Healer."

Lupin's gaze jumped from the bottom of his glass to her chocolate-coloured eyes. "Are you unwell?"

Anna let out a small breathy laugh. "Not yet. It was routine."

"What do you mean by 'Not yet'?"

Anna winced. Her hands, small and pudgy like a child's, clutched at nothing in the air as she flexed her fingers. She refused to meet his eyes and aimed her response at her bare feet. "I'm just under three months pregnant."

Lupin knocked back his glass.

"Say something," she whispered.

"What do you want me to say?"

Anna shook her head and said quietly, "I don't know."

"Are you telling me because you think it's mine?"

"I don't know."

Lupin glanced down at his empty glass and raised it. "Might it be possible to have another?"

"Of course." Anna reached for the bottle of amber liquid and handed it to him. "You might as well finish it." She returned to her seat and stared intently at him. "I don't want to tell Charlie because he has no idea. He'll think it's his and maybe it'll be born in the spring and it'll look like you. I just don't know what to do."

Lupin's hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. "Anna, I don't even know if I can have children." He took a deep breath. "I know you've all been told what I am."

Anna nodded. "Greyback has been allowed to wear a Death Eater's robes."

"I know."

Anna raised her eyebrows. "How?"

"Don't be so naïve."

Anna licked her dry lips. The sun was beginning to set over the soft hills that lay beyond the lake. The sunlight flittered through the tree trunks of the orchard, bathing the grass in a soft gold glow. Her room - her summer parlour which only she and her friends frequented - was magnificent in the dusk. The dark orange furniture seemed aflame, the walls, the colour of amber.

"You think werewolves can't have children?"

Lupin shrugged and peered out of the window as though the answer had been mown onto the lawns. "There's no child on record."

"But just because there's no record…"

Lupin smiled grimly. "Do you think it might be best if it's your fiancé's?"

Anna smiled sadly. "I just don't know."

Lupin sighed and poured himself a third measure, significantly smaller than those passed to him. "I don't know whether my disease can be passed on to a child. The baby, if it's mine, could be cursed. I don't know. I mean, it's a blood disease. If the child is mine then half of its blood is my blood - my diseased blood. You need to _really_ think about this. You _need_ those dates. Anna, if it's my child, I can't allow it to be raised here, indoctrinated by your husband."

Anna shook her head. "We're not married."

"But you _will_ be."

"How do you even know about that?"

Lupin nodded in the direction of the ring on her finger. "You know what I do. I wouldn't be much use to anyone if I didn't notice something like that."

Anna's frown lines deepened. "Well, what do you want me to say? I love him."

"Then why were you sleeping with me?"

Anna smiled sadly. "I think because I could." She sighed. "Look, Charlie might have been a bit of a knob, but he was gorgeous. He still is. Every girl looked twice at him and I hung around with girls like Electra and Scarlet. Nobody looked at me."

"I looked at you."

Anna nodded her acknowledgement.

"And what about your boyfriend before me? He looked at you."

Anna scoffed. "He told everyone he was only dating me because fat girls give good head. That's not the sort of attention I wanted."

"I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing you _can_ say. Why were _you_ dating me? It wasn't for my good looks, model's body, and joie de vivre, was it?"

Lupin rolled his eyes. "Hard as it may be for you to believe, I _liked_ you. I thought you had interesting things to say and you really were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. Everybody said you were good looking, Anna. Nobody was that surprised that you'd pulled Mucliber. Except me. I was surprised. I knew you were capable, I just didn't think you'd do it."

"Don't feed me that holier-than-thou bullshit. You broke my heart."

Lupin leapt to his feet. "And you broke _me_!"

"I think you're right," said Anna quietly. "I think it would be better if it's Charles'."

Lupin nodded curtly. "Best of luck to you then."

"If I'm such a bitch, why were _you_ sleeping with _me_?"

Lupin laughed. "Isn't it obvious?"

Anna averted her eyes and picked at the loose thread in her cushion.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Why won't you let me fall out of love with you?"

"What do I have to do?"

Lupin smiled sadly. "Marry him."

Anna got to her feet and lit the gas lamps. She leant against the wall, her body slumped. "And then what? What happens in April?"

Lupin shrugged. "Closer to the time, you'll have a rough estimate of when the child is due. That one or two weeks difference should be enough, shouldn't it?"

"And what then? What if it's yours? What do I do?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "You don't have to stay here."

Anna stared at him. "How can I hurt him? He's not done anything wrong."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I think that's debatable. I'd call first degree murder 'wrong'. I'd call torture 'wrong'."

Anna smirked. "Well, you'd know all about torture."

"You didn't see him! You barely knew him! My father wasn't even forty and he was an old man. By the end, he didn't know the way around his own house. He couldn't recognise his only child. All right, I hero-worshipped him, and all right, I knew he wasn't going to live forever, but I wasn't ready to lose him at eighteen - not like _that_. And that's not how my dad wanted to die. My dad always told me that he would rather die standing than live on his knees and he didn't get to die standing. When your mother was murdered, tell me you didn't want to do as she was done by." Lupin's hands shook. He clenched them into fists and shoved them deep into his pockets, away from her piercing stare.

Despite the heat, Anna pulled her cardigan tight around her. "I didn't say Travers didn't deserve it. I said you'd no right to judge the man I love."

Lupin laughed bitterly. "You know, my father used to come out with a lot of sayings that didn't actually mean anything, or advice which would probably see me locked away if I heeded it, but that stuck with me. I _would_ rather die standing than live on my knees and I live my life accordingly." Unable to meet her eyes, he addressed the bookcase positioned slightly to her left. "I love you enough to wish you a long and happy life with the man you love, even if I disapprove of the way you live and the choices you make, but I want you to know that he lives on his knees, and while he does, so do you. As long as you stay with him, you're trapped. Live on your knees long enough and you might forget how to stand and then you'll never be free."

Anna nodded toward the door.

"I see. How dare I disillusion you?"


	12. In which Peter turns twenty

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

**A/N: Sorry is just a four letter word with a 'y' on the end these days, isn't it? I can't promise I won't abandon it for weeks on end again, but I hope when I come back each time, the chapters make up for my absences. **

**On that note, isn't it about time we had a break from all the angst? So while this is a Peter chapter, it's not _really_ a Peter chapter. I suppose it might be a Sirius or a James chapter masquerading as a Peter chapter.**

_January 15__th__ 1980. Holly Street. Rhydyfelin. 00:00._

"Go and wake Moony, will you?"

Sirius stared back. "I don't think it's a question of waking him up, Jim. I think it's a question of taking him to hospital."

Lupin, slumped over Peter's kitchen table, groaned as he lifted his head from his folded arms. Peter laughed and pushed it down.

"All right, Remus. Don't worry."

"No. I worry, therefore I am." He got to his feet with none of his usual grace. "Pete, I don't know what sort of person holds a birthday party the day before their birthday, but I don't think it's a good move."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Well otherwise, we'd have four or five hours of my birthday. This way, I turn twenty when the party's in full swing."

"Yeah, and you get to celebrate the last night before you become a proper adult."

"I've been a legal adult for two years, James."

James raised an eyebrow. "Peter, until you have to have 'teen' attached onto the end of your age while your wife and all your friends have entered their twenties, don't tell me what a proper adult is."

Sirius laughed. "Old enough to get your wife knocked up. At least the kid's not due for another couple of months after your birthday. I couldn't have you labeled as a teenage parent."

"Shut up. None of you are supposed to know about that. I was scared shitless and I told you in good faith."

Peter's kitchen was tiny. It barely held the four of them, but it was their only option. Peter's mother had grudgingly booked herself a room at the small bed and breakfast further along the valley, and offered up her house because Rhydyfelin wasn't really the sort of place, she thought, in which her son and his friends should go out. Her son was effeminate when drunk, one of his friends lacked a filter between his brain and his mouth even when sober, one didn't want a filter in the first place, and one had the alcohol tolerance of a twelve year old.

"Who in this kitchen have you not told, James? The cabinets? Is your glass looking at you funny? Is the sink judging you?"

"It's vodka, Sirius, not cannabis."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Then lighten up. Just who am I going to tell? Besides, people are going to notice eventually. Even if you lock Lily in the airing cupboard for nine months, people aren't going to believe it floated up the Thames in a wicker basket."

Lupin staggered to the counter and held on firmly with one hand. "You shouldn't have told anybody until she was three months."

James frowned. "What? Why not?"

Lupin shrugged. "I don't know." He slurred, his words almost intelligible. "Just something my mother said."

"You told your _mother_?"

Lupin shook his head. "Course I didn't. Someone else. Ages ago. Frightened - like you."

James narrowed his eyes skeptically, but allowed the matter to drop.

"Come on then," said Sirius, changing the subject with an almost practiced ease. "Twenty shots for Wormtail's twentieth. He poured out eighty measures of an electric blue liquid into miniature plastic tumblers.

Lupin turned away, wincing. "Please no, Pad. I'll be sick."

Sirius handed him his first shot and shrugged. "Not _my_ floor."

Peter threw Lupin a concerned glance. "Don't _really_ be sick on my floor, will you?"

"Everyone ready? Got them lined up? Right, twenty shots, twenty seconds."

Lupin groaned.

"Come on, Moony. Twenty in twenty. You won't have time to be sick."

Had Lupin been sober, he was sure he would have argued this point, but being of unsound mind, he nodded reluctantly.

Twenty seconds later, he was violently sick in the sink.

"That's disgusting, Remus. Jesus. Let's get you off to bed."

Lupin groaned, but made no protest, meekly following Peter upstairs.

James reached for the bottle and poured both himself and Sirius large measures. "You'll be godfather?"

Despite being expressly told not to, Sirius lit a cigarette. "_Me_? Are you sure that's wise?"

James almost threw the whiskey down his throat and poured himself a second. "We're in the middle of a war and I don't know when it's going to end or what's going to happen to me. I have to know it'll be safe."

Sirius tapped the excess ash into one of Peter's mother's teacups. "You'll be fine."

"I know. I just need to be sure."

Sirius nodded. "Of course I'll be godfather. I was born for the role. Anything you and Lily forbid it to do, I'm sort of legally obliged to agree to. I'd love to do it, I'm just wondering how you're going to handle the kid when it's fourteen and I've let it do whatever the hell it pleases. You'd be better off with Remus really, you know that, don't you?"

James frowned. "With all these laws? Remus _can't _be godfather. And anyway, I don't want him to be. I need _you _to raise it like _I'd _raise it. I thought that was the point of a godfather."

"Oh God, in that case, we'll be fine. Just so long as we're clear, I'll be buying irresponsible Christmas presents and giving it ridiculous amounts of refined sugar. I'll be King of the Kids."

James laughed. "I dread to think."

"You know," said Peter, sighing as he trooped over to the sink and turned the cold water on full blast, "it's my birthday. I shouldn't have to deal with this shit."

Sirius grimaced. "I'd love to help you but-"

"Is that a fag?"

Sirius laughed. "No, you are."

Peter rolled his eyes. James smiled sadly.

"Come on, gents. Play nice. This is the last of Peter's birthdays I'm going to get to come to. Next year, I'm going to be somebody's dad, and dads don't down twenty-one shots."

Sirius scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Just because _your_ dad didn't-"

"Did _yours_?"

Sirius shrugged. "Fuck knows. Probably."

James made a face.

"I don't know. I never cared enough to ask about his friends. I always assumed he didn't have any." He stubbed the cigarette out in the bottom of the tea-cup and Peter winced. Sirius ignored him. "My father wasn't a tyrant, at least. He blasted me off the tapestry and he threw me out of the house, but at least he had the decency to sit me down and tell me why. Look, James, it doesn't take much, all right? The kid's not going to care if you're downing sixty in a minute to celebrate Peter's retirement. It's not all about being an example. Sometimes, it's about fucking up where your child doesn't and being able to say 'I'm proud of you' and not sitting him down at a desk like you're halfway through a business deal."

James nodded, stunned into silence.

"Now where's the whiskey?" Having poured himself far too large a measure, Sirius nudged James affectionately. "You're going to be fine. More than fine. Stop moping. Come on, Pete. You only turn twenty once. That's the best reason I can think of for getting shit-faced. I want to wake up tomorrow morning in the same state as Moony's going to be in."

Peter laughed. "Christ! I don't know what you've got planned, but count me out."


End file.
